Johnlock Reunion
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: Basically a short post-Reichenbach fic involving Sherlock and John reunited, and obviously, finally admitting their love for each other.


The worst thing, John decided, was that he hadn't told him. He'd had all that time, so many opportunities, and he'd never said it. He'd been too scared. And now he was all out of chances. Sherlock was gone. He was gone and he was never coming back. Ever. He'd never know.

And John would never know, either. Never know if Sherlock felt the same way. Never known whether or not Sherlock could think of him as more than a friend. In the end, it didn't matter. He was dead either way. Perhaps it was better this way. John couldn't be disappointed.

It had been nearly a year when John first thought he saw him. A tall, dark haired figure seemed to be watching him as he walked home one evening. For a moment, he was certain it was Sherlock, but that was impossible. But when he finally looked again, trying not to get his hopes too high, the man had vanished. Perhaps he had never been there at all.

The next time was almost two years after _it _happened. John had all but convinced himself he had moved on. He rarely thought of Sherlock any more. It was too painful to consider. But then a tall man with a scarf-covered face bumped into him on the street, and his piercing blue eyes bored into John's for just a second too long. _Could it be him?_ thought John, staring back in shock, _Could Sherlock really be alive? _Then the man walked off without a word, and John dismissed the idea. Surely Sherlock would never let him believe he was dead... Surely Sherlock could never just walk off like that.

The third time, three years after his supposed death, Sherlock meant to go by without John even seeing him. Then he saw him, talking and laughing as if it had never happened. As if Sherlock had never existed. And although he knew this was how it had to be, it broke his heart. A small, selfish part wanted John to be thinking of him. So when he passed John on the street, he just couldn't let him go. Without even considering it for a moment, he ran over and grabbed John's hand, dragging him down a deserted alleyway and not stopping until they were completely alone.

"What are you doing?" asked John, too shocked to pull away, "Who are you?"

"John," replied Sherlock, turning to him, "It's me. I'm... Well, I'm..."

"No," said John, white as a sheet, "It can't be. You can't be... You _died_," his voice breaking and tears starting to appear in his eyes, he paused for a moment, "I saw you. I _saw _you _die_."

"Look at me, John," said Sherlock, taking his face in his hands, "I'm real. I'm not dead. It was a trick, just a trick."

"_Why_? Why would you pretend to be _dead_? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I couldn't, John, I couldn't. I had to be dead, or Moriarty's men would have killed you, and Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. They had to believe I was dead. _You _had to believe I was dead."

"It's been three years, Sherlock. _Three years_. Why did you leave it so long?"

"I never meant to tell you. I wanted you to move on. But... But I couldn't. I couldn't just leave. I'm sorry."

"_Sorry _isn't enough, Sherlock! _Sorry _doesn't make up for _three years_!"

Suddenly, John was angry at Sherlock. He'd let him believe he was dead for three years, and now he was _sorry? _Without stopping to think, he punched Sherlock's face with all his might, sending him flying into the dirty brick wall behind him. Sherlock looked up, a shocked and hurt expression on his face.

"You _punched _me," he said, sounding like a child.

"You deserved it. _Three years_."

"Yes... I... I suppose... But..."

Sherlock looked so innocent and hurt, a bruise already forming on his cheek, that John's anger all but vanished.

"Let me look at it," he said gently, tilting Sherlock's head and surveying the damage, "There, no harm done. It's just a bruise."

"Well, yes, given the angle of the blow and the distance-"

John ignored Sherlock's babbled deductions, staring intently at his face, which was suddenly too close, and yet, not close enough. Shifting his hands, he tilted the former detective's face into a far more convenient position, and silenced him with a gentle kiss. Sherlock froze, more shocked by this than by the punch.

"I'm sorry," said John, pulling away, "I didn't mean, I mean, it's just, well, I thought you were dead, and now you're not, and I never got a chance to tell you-"

"No, it's fine," said Sherlock, talking over him, "And I guess I never told you-"

"I love you," they said together.

They stared at each other's faces, barely an inch away, in stunned silence.

"What?" asked John finally, "What did you say?"

"I said... I said I love you. And I'm sorry I never told you before."

"I, well, thank you," stuttered John, "I mean, oh, god, that sounds terrible. I mean, I love you too."

"Thank you," said Sherlock, smiling slightly.

John laughed, then leant in closer and kissed Sherlock again. Sherlock responded, clumsy and uncertain, and John smiled gently as he finally found something he could do better than Sherlock.

They stayed in that alleyway for a long time, exchanging soft words and kisses, finally happy again after three years of misery.


End file.
